Though Our Bones May Wither
by WeSailShips
Summary: As his country threatens to fall into the hands of a tyrannical conqueror, Athrun Zala sail towards a distant kingdom to save what was left of his home. There, salvation is a cold princess and her formidable army. Medieval AU.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning Gundam Seed.

* * *

Though Our Bones May Wither

 _WeSailShips_

* * *

Come the morn, men prepared. The king has called for his entire army for the bloodiest war yet.

Jibril the Conqueror, they called the tyrant. He has conquered the neighboring cities in less than a year. Already, a quarter of the kingdom has fallen. Now his army marches towards the capital, trampling every city in its wake, raiding small villages, raping women left and right, burning people to send terror.

It got to the point that the grand army of the Kingdom of Plants were crushed into half of its original sum. The King's desperation is sound and stout. And in the wake of his queen's sudden death, choreographed by Jibril's assassins, he clung to his misery. In his absence, the Kingdom fell piece by bloody piece into the tyrant's greedy hands.

In utter hopelessness, one of the King's advisor, Marquis Siegel Clyne, in cooperation with Grand Duke Patrick Zala, knocked on a far neighbor's heart. He sent an eagle to the East, the fastest he had, and on its claw lies the future of Plants.

* * *

AN: I'm drunk and it's 2:46 in the morning. I haven't had a decent sleep for two straight weeks. And fck I just realized Shiranui Akatsuki is a way better MS than Strike Freedom. Like. Damn. Anyway, is this fandom still alive?


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a half-assed plot. Blame the alcohol.

A/N: I'm sober rn, thought you should know. I still hate college.

* * *

I

* * *

"What in bloody hell are you doing?"

Young Lord Athrun Zala looked up to an exasperated Yzak Joule, smiling innocently as the latter roll his sky blue eyes. Dearka Elsman was beside him, sniggering as Athrun rose up to his full height, a crown of wildflowers atop his head.

"Well," Athrun shrugged, a dust of red on his cheeks, "the girls thought it wise that I was to be the princess."

"Clever girls." Dearka nodded approvingly, patting Lacus and Meer's heads like a proud papa.

"You certainly look the part Zala." Yzak sneered, sarcasm rolling easily off his voice. "Take it off. You look hideous."

The young men exchanged playful jabs for a while until Nicol Amalfi arrived and promptly told them to stop acting like children. They talk of harmless things unrelated to war as they sipped their tea and played cards like they used to do as young boys.

Their laughter were pleasant and came aplenty, misguiding in its innocent sounds.

Meer noticed and pondered. _Let them laugh, let them have this. They'll lose this one of these days again._ Her gaze settled on Athrun far longer than it should have, wondering yet again of damnable thoughts.

…oOo…

As the sun made its steady descent, Nicol blew a tune on his flute and a smile graced all their lips as both Lacus and Meer sang tales of old love and of glory to his playing.

They enjoyed the songs as much as they could. To which they did. It was a luxury to hear something lovely before you march to your death.

Their men had been increasingly forced to withdraw to the Gates of Martius, just less than two hundred miles away south-west from the capital. The gate was thick and tall, designed so for the very purpose of withstanding an army.

"I won't let them pass my home. They will crawl back to hell before they set foot inside Martius."

"Yzak…"

"We won't let them." Athrun agreed, eyes meeting that of Dearka's, warning. Nicol, ever serene, smiled wanly. Yzak was oddly calm and distant, and oh, how his rage simmered.

…oOo…

Before they notice, the stars were already gleaming and a crescent moon was grinning down at them ominously. Lacus bid all of them a kiss to the cheek each before they go, whispering solemn goodbyes and good luck and come back home. Meer did not dare look, did not utter a word, tears slowly dripping down her layered tulle skirts.

Lacus stopped Athrun for a brief second after their friends are a safe distance away, smiling sadly. "I take it you heard from your Father?"

"I did."

She nodded, somber. "This is goodbye then, fiancé."

Athrun bent to kiss the back of her lace-covered hand, hoping with absent words for her to find happiness. He kissed her again in the cheek, lingering and sweet, a last farewell for a what-could-have-been.

"Goodbye Lacus. Thank you."

…oOo…

"We can only hope now."

"And pray, old friend." Isaac Joule smirked sardonically, blue eyes cheerless, downing the chalice conveniently nearby. "I have never been more religious to my faith until these last few days."

"Yes. That as well." Siegel Clyne dragged a palm on his aged face, sighing as he looked over the proud back of their Grand Duke.

"In any case, Ali is sending his personal army towards Martius."

"Huh," Siegel breathed out. "You managed to convince Hahnenfuss?"

Lord Joule nodded. "Martius will have to hold."

"Isaac"

"Yes, Patrick?" Isaac Joule watched as the Grand Duke finally turned, face never betraying the turmoil underneath.

"Send Ezalia to December."

…oOo…

South of Plants, far enough beyond the seas of Quintilis, a scattered fleet sailed quietly.

…oOo…


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Thank you for the reviews, you all are awesome.

* * *

II

Not five days pass after the eagle flew towards Orb, King Uzumi Nara Athha received the message. Onogoro's Lady Murrue Ramius, protector of their North-Westernmost stronghold, sailed towards the capital herself to deliver it to him.

The King read it once, twice, and never again.

The letter was formal, if a bit beseeching, begging even if you stretch it far enough.

King Uzumi was not heartless, he was ever benevolent and kind. He sympathized with Plant's loss, with its people's suffering most especially. He prayed for them in Haumea's temple later in the evening, asking the goddess for mercy and salvation of the innocent.

His gaze was lost to his chambers, far away it wandered into oblivion.

They ask too much.

…oOo…

The Orb King's compassion ran deep, and his ambition for unity ran even deeper. His will, his dream, however good and noble, will steal away something far, far more important.

He wrote a reply six days after he received the letter, the words in equal parts a father's rigidity and a king's condolences. He personally tied it to a messenger raven himself, stern and regal whilst the attendant of the castle's rookery grew flustered behind his king.

King Uzumi has become the designer of his daughter's doom.

…oOo…

He watched this ever-rebellious girl's eyes as they grow wide in shock and suppressed outrage while he narrate her future.

Turmoil bled through her tense shoulders, chaos leaking off of those amber eyes so alike that of his late wife's.

She screamed, she screeched but she never cried.

The words she parted him with were but measly, said in so defeated a voice that they hang leaden in the sky with the gravity of it.

" _I will never be happy again_."

The heavy chain around his conscience was all that stopped him from ripping apart the weightless paper he so carelessly hold in his fingers.

…oOo…

His son— the softer, calmer twin—came barreling on his desk with all the gentleness of a typhoon. Anger takes passion in the purest of hearts, King Uzumi had long ago learned.

He expressed his opinions, trying and failing to articulate all the reasons why his father was making all the wrong decisions. Fury clouded his judgement. And oh, it was such a startling sight.

 _She does not deserve this, Father._

It went without saying that King Uzumi knew she didn't. But such was the burden of their name. Of their ancestry and its legacy. His children understood this, the girl more than the boy, and they quarrel no more.

…oOo…

 _Why_ , Kira had asked. _Why help them?_

Because those who could, should — he'd failed to say.

…oOo…

Away from the shackles that came with being a royal, Cagalli Yula Athha looked up to the grey sky and pretended that the warm trails on both her cheeks were just raindrops warmer than usual.

Pulling off a dagger, she gathered her spun-gold hair and hacked half of it off. Rebellious to the bone. The strands flew away from her, a strong willful breeze carrying it off, scattering to their downfall.

High on the cliffs, where the world fell away into the gaping oceans, she learned that silence was the loudest cry.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: An anon commented, Nina, that the fandom might be in a comma. That crack me up a bit.

* * *

III.

* * *

While Athrun Zala sailed through gloomy seas, Jibril's army tried to trample Martius' walls.

It proved to be impregnable.

So far.

With a bit of hope shining on their side, Plants take advantage where it could as much as it could. The Red Knights most of all, led by Heine Westenfluss and Martius' Lord Joule, secure what might possibly be their last hope to the best of their abilities.

…oOo…

 _Do all things with kindness, however small. It makes all the difference, my love._

That had been Lenore Zala's parting words to her son.

There had never been a warmer summer in the North like this, her people said. It was a good omen they said. Ezalia sat beside her, reading a letter from her husband.

"What is it Lenore?" Ezalia asked without looking up. "What clouds your mind?"

It took her long to reply but as she closed her eyes, the words slithered bravely. "How dare we? We should not have another country fighting our battles."

"Would you rather Plants burn to the ground?" Ezalia's gaze lacked her fire, but it held pride and Lenore reminded herself that she wasn't always a Joule. She was once a Zala, with their proud backs and regality and ancient lineage.

"I would rather not burden someone who does not care for war."

…oOo…

When the ship from Plants made port in Carpentaria Harbor – Orb's Northernmost territory, home to dauntingly massive warships — a man who bare the title Count of Endymion welcomed the party. Behind him, people gawk at the foreigners.

Athrun was only so relieved to have set foot on land after so long in water. His people were not for the sea, he surmised sullenly. In passing, he noted the heat and welcomed the feeling reluctantly, remembering his home December and her always present chill.

His party yet again boarded another ship, smaller and infinitely more elegant, and on they go to Mwu La Flaga's castle.

They were welcomed with a festivity come nightfall.

That very night, he met Orb's Prince.

…oOo…

Kira Ulen Athha, Athrun soon learn, was a good man with an overprotective streak. He supposed all brothers do. The slightly menacing brotherly-protectiveness aside, Prince Kira was convivial and very kind. He offered gentle condolences, for people not even his own.

Cagalli Yula Athha was not there though.

Nor was the King.

Athrun didn't know why he felt relieved.

…oOo…

The first time he ever saw her, in the hallways of Endymion Castle, she was sitting straight and regal, with mischief curved on her pink lips. Wrapped in rose gold and long locks dappled with tiny magnolias. A diamond diadem, bright and ageless, lie comfortably on top of her half-unraveled honey hair.

 _She's a golden girl_ , he thought, _with her golden eyes and her golden smile._

He wondered how she looks now, almost a decade older, tracing the name on the frame of a thirteen-year old Crown Princess' portrait.

…oOo…

Orb was a beautiful archipelago. Though small compared to his homeland, it thrived in all the ways Plants did not.

Untouched by war and conflict. Safe from the clutches of foreign conquerors. Its people fed and blissful. Wealthy and healthy. Teeming with life.

Peace.

It was the most beautiful thing.

…oOo…

When he arrived at the heart of Orb, the capital Heliopolis, it was to a curiously cautious but nonetheless warm natives. They followed his carriage from the piazza in a solemn parade as it carried him to his future.

Athrun grew up to luxury and excessive wealth. But for the life of him, he couldn't stop himself from marveling the home of the monarchs.

How vast it was and how grand its architecture, with its parallel towers soaring and the banners on its roofs piercing the sky. The heavy metal gates opened to Athrun's procession, and at the grounds, the royals wait.

…oOo…

The first time he laid eyes on his promised bride in the flesh, she was anything but that golden girl propped reverently in Count La Flaga's hallway.

She had gold eyes.

She didn't have such golden smile.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. _Meh_.

* * *

IV

Athrun Zala immersed into Orb politics with zealous dedication.

He sent letters to Nicol, asking about the war. In his replies, Nicol asked things far less depressing (or not really), prying details about Orb and his wife-to-be.

He learned in one letter sent by Rusty MacKenzie, a friend and fellow Red Knight, that Isaac Joule has fallen. Though Martius still stood, it seemed to slowly crumble in the aftermath of its Lord's death. Yzak wasn't taking it well.

That day, Athrun rid his blade its scabbard and tore through trees and air and regrets. He did not know, but Prince Kira watched.

Letters were also sent to his father in between mandatory political lessons, reporting about his progress, to which he receive curt replies to. In one such letter he sent, he asked for both his parents to make for Orb.

In a month or so, he would wed Cagalli Yula Athha.

…oOo…

Before they were to marry, Athrun and Cagalli were mandated to spend everything together, bar the duties they respectively have to attend to.

Athrun learned to lie his smiles, entwining his fingers through Cagalli's with people around and hers slipping off his when no one's watching.

She didn't want any of this. He understood that.

…oOo…

In a world prone to forgetting, Athrun didn't let the disease touch him.

There was a mantra stuck repeating itself in his mind.

Words that stopped him every time he had the urge to sail for Plants, fight in its battles, and protect home because that was what soldiers do, and he was a soldier goddamn, through and through.

 _I am of December and we know our winter well. We endure her frost. We bear._

…oOo…

Once, he saw a new portrait in the hall overlooking the backyard pavilion. It was of Cagalli and Kira, and it hadn't been painted too long ago.

He didn't know she had had long hair months before his arrival.

…oOo…

When his parents arrived, with relatives and close friends in tow, Athrun wait in the docks with baited eagerness. His mother embraced him immediately and he welcomed it with such desperation.

It's almost sad, how desperate he wanted to be held.

There were tears in Lenore Zala's eyes as it opened and a smile on her lips as she whispered soothing words to her son.

Princess Cagalli who's behind Athrun, curtsied as they broke off, uttering her welcome in so polished a manner that they all couldn't help but bow.

She did not hold his hand as was practiced.

He was too happy that he doesn't notice.

…oOo…

The wedding was a relatively solemn affair.

It was held in an island called Yalafath, in an ancient temple squeezed by sky and sea, between infinities bright and blue as they look on at the dazzling couple standing proud at its center.

The white glowing beams of the early morning sun combed through leaves of old thick trees, showering the couple underneath ethereal. The chorale at the foot of the long aged steps sang in a language long dead and it echoed silently in their guts, hollowly sacred. The great white pillars bear first witness to man and wife.

Up the stairs, alone and with no one watching, they promised themselves to each other with the blessings of their gods. Hands held between them, eyes wide open, hearts beating evenly, with no wings fluttering in their bellies.

He draped her with his ceremonial cloak, emblazoned with his family's Gryphon sigil. She silently accepted it, listening to his promises and promising her own afterwards.

She kissed him finally, a traditional, fleeting thing.

…oOo…

Below, a priest and his ensemble— in all their holy regalia — held a crown reverently, diamonds dazzling in the sunlight upon gold wreath, riddled with large and tiny pearls, gems drooping down and around it. He waited patiently, and as Cagalli Yula Athha knelt in front of him and Orb, King Uzumi lifted the diamond crown off the princess' head, crystals dangling off like luminous black tears, and the priest replaced it with the one he had been holding.

In his lips was a prayer in Orb's old language, grave and sincere, a promise for her to uphold. She shall carry Orb in her shoulders from then on and Haumea, how she'll wove it into her own giant wings.

One last crown to wear until this woman became Queen.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Author's Note: The narration of this chapter was heavily influenced by a Naruto fanfiction titled 'The Hokages Secret Closet'. If you are a fan, give it a read. It was written long ago so it isn't canon anymore, but it is worth your while.

* * *

V

* * *

King Uzumi, ever generous, gave them a place to live until such time that his daughter take his place.

Southward, where reality and fantasy blur in between its spectrum, a castle long forgotten was breathed back to life. Its halls rumbled in pleasure. Its gates open to a new story. Its walls wake to imprint the secrets of its Lord and Lady.

A couple, young and unloving, unlock the door to its history.

…oOo…

They both settled as best they could.

I was big, and equally as old as I was rich. With all my empty rooms, no wonder the odd couple found separate chambers. My walls had never been home to married men and women, they were my first.

The girl, subtly brash, sporadically moody, spitting fire wherever she could—a lion through and through.

The boy, gracious and ever patient. He saw through her acts. He understood and he accepted her animosity.

…oOo…

She noticed the pretty eyes, the shade like the forest in her dreams. But less alive than she remembered it being. So she glowered soundlessly in a corner nobody had visited for so long, licking her wounds as she surveyed her palace beneath my tallest tower.

 _He's not the only one who didn't want any of this._

I could hear metal grinding in her heart. An armor.

She won't let him get close, I lament.

…oOo…

I would pat the boy if I had hands to comfort. I felt him sighing deeply, leaning on my halls with his back slightly curled in. The girl was being difficult again, seeing to get a rise out of him. Always, _always_. He could only take so much.

Can't you see sorrow embracing your husband like a wanton harlot, silly girl?

…oOo…

I watched over Cagalli Yula - so pretty, like her mother once was. Not as diplomatic though. And far from gentle. But I supposed I understand her. Better than she did herself.

In her chambers, she was anything but the cold person she showed her husband. She was a caged cub, I thought, sad.

…oOo…

He was made out of tender breezes and deep enigmatic oceans.

She was made out of fire and thunderstorms and falling stars.

It was a depressing union. Even I, old and patient as I am, steadily lose my faith each day.

But it had hope, I digress. So long as the boy held on to it. So long as the girl won't utter 'No more.'

And though tiny, its light dappled in the shadows.

…oOo…

The corners of my library sang as soft deep laughter bounced off it.

The princess, so captivated was she by a book sitting comfortably on her lap, that she remain oblivious to the storm raving just outside the large bay window where she sat. Laughter freely flowed from her lips, whispering comical passages.

She didn't notice it but I did. The boy, widened eyes so incredibly green, hiding behind the giant shelf in front of her. He leaned on it and sat, closing his eyes to the candid laughter of his wife.

I hoped.

…oOo…

Greatly influenced by delirium and fever, Cagalli thrust into the conversation with all the confusion of a lost girl. "Why are you so good to me? I treat you no better than I treat scum. So, why?"

I watched as Athrun's response get stuck in his throat for a while, emotions so bashfully displayed on his sleeve. He struggled with his thoughts for a while, scooping a spoonful of broth and urging her to open her mouth. But his wife didn't seem to mind, didn't seem to be there at all really.

"I don't want you to hate me."

When the girl got well, she didn't remember it. That was what Athrun told himself.

Oh how wrong he was.

…oOo…

Once, the couple left me with dull expressions as adieu.

For a whole day, all I had were the silent servants to keep me company. Where those two were I could tell, hearing the echoes of the forest around me. I listened intently.

When they both came home, it was to my delight that they came back with easy smiles.

…oOo…

Sorrow touched my walls again as Athrun read a letter from his father. He had been so pleased these days, it was a shame.

It took him three days to tell his wife that his mother was ill. He didn't cry, no. But oh, he hurt. So much. Too much.

Helpless, holding his hand was the only comfort she knew to give.

…oOo…

It was not my intention to eavesdrop on them, but the corners of one hall quivered to life and I couldn't help overhearing.

"Would you allow me, if I asked to go with them?"

"Why would you assume I won't?"

"I never said that."

"…Fair enough. I would… But we all have our own will and I think, I think even though for some absurd reason I try to stop you, I can't. You're a warrior at heart—the talented kind, my father says—" her voice grew light, friendly, teasing, "a soldier bound by duty and honor to protect your motherland. I do not dare trample on your one true love, husband."

He smiled slowly. "You know me well."

"Hm. That's up to debate, methinks." A wisp of a kiss landed on his temple. "Good night Athrun."

"Good night, Cagalli."

…oOo…

As the one half of my pair closed my door to a dispassionate wife, I saw no kiss, no hugs and no tears.

Two months living inside my halls and they never consummated their marriage.

Such an odd pair.

I wished, prayed, for the man to come home to his wife, ready to continue their story, to prolong my book of history.

…oOo…

I relived their memories in my spare time, the images engraved deeply in my sturdy old walls. Their secret smiles, their whispered hopes. Their innocent artless touches. Their clumsy friendship.

It was gratitude for him and tolerance for her.

It wasn't love.

Not really.

Not yet.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: _Duh_.

* * *

VI

* * *

"My Lords! Sers!" One messenger hollered at the top of his lungs, careening unceremoniously and disrespectfully through the open flaps of the large tent. His widened eyes watched every red-clad soldiers inside, panting lips parted to sputter, "Q-Quintilis. It's… Lord Joule…! Quintilis is under attack!"

…oOo…

Expensive furniture held little meaning it seemed. Another glass shattered as it collided against a wall. He would have winced had it not sounded satisfying to his ears too.

Nicol sighed, steeling himself as he entered the dark broken room. "Are you done?"

"Leave me alone, Amalfi."

The growl was not quite human. Behind him Dearka grunted an 'I told you so' that he ignored. No matter. Nicol lit a candle and placed it in front of a furious Yzak. He did not offer a smile nor did he offer a condolence. "Pull yourself together. Martius needs you Yzak. You may think ill of me for saying this, but don't abandon the people who depends on you just because you hurt."

"What do you know!?"

Silence filled them like an unwelcomed ghost. A pause, a silence so gut-wrenchingly deafening and Yzak's ire simmered for a dull second, realizing.

Nicol did know—he lost Maius, he lost his people, he lost his parents. They forget sometimes, that beyond his gentle smiles, Nicol has nothing.

Dearka had his eyes on the map by the table, staring at Quintilis, and Junius beside it. And to Aprilius spread widely next to the latter. His mind though was far from it, scrambling as he hurried to say, "We know next to nothing gentlemen. It's not advisable to dangle on intuition alone. And though Lord Ali is dead and his family's nowhere to—"

"My wife is alive." Yzak's voice was strong as he cut through Dearka's assurances, full of misled sureness, eyes cold jagged daggers. "She is."

"Yzak I didn't mean—"

"Come Dearka," interjected a grim Rusty hovering by the door, "join me mourn the dead."

Nicol joined them, squeezing Yzak's tense shoulder as he passed by. _Another time_ , Nicol empathized.

…oOo…

The sheer number of people gathered in the ports of Endymion that day was astounding. The entirety of North Orb sang its farewells to fathers, sons and grandsons. Families gather by the docks as they cry their goodbyes, most silent, some not.

In total, the last ships gathered by the port are some thirty-three or so. The other hundred thirty were already at Carpentaria Harbor waiting, as the port could only hold so many.

At the center of the ships, held by thick ropes and two giant anchors, floating serenely, was the mothership Archangel. Named so because of the gold angel on its bow, in whose hands clutched the hilt of a claymore, its wings swelling and wide.

Prince Kira led mounted on his steed, dressed in his full battle armor, unhurriedly directing the flow of the royal parade. Behind him, to the right in his Orb armor, was his brother-in-law Lord Athrun. As the carriage halted, Princess Cagalli dismounted with all her practiced grace. The King, proud and towering, exited the carriage to a deafening hail.

In front of the Archangel, King Uzumi addressed his army and his people.

As he kept to his speech, on the far right two steps behind the King, beside Cagalli, Athrun bow his head and thanked his gods for this man and his overwhelming generosity.

…oOo…

Athrun's gaze fell on one old ship. While he ogled at its gigantic hull, Kira stood beside him and said with a smile in his voice, "That, is the Old Lady, Kusanagi. Isn't she glorious?"

Athrun blinked at him. As he was about to respond, another voice speaks. "Hmm. Well, considering she's been protecting this country even before my grandfather's time, I'd say she's ancient. And quite the indestructible."

"Count Flaga. I didn't realize you were coming."

"I wasn't supposed to, Your Highness. The King will explain in the tent. Come along you two."

There was a misplaced smile on his lips, Athrun noticed, the edges vomiting off the telltale signs of grief.

…oOo…

Reeling with thoughts, chaotic and worrying both, Athrun brooded.

Quintilis has been attacked.

The south-eastern most edge of Plants has been struck at its most vulnerable. With all the efforts concentrated on Martius, most of the royal army has been stationed there and little less to those that needed no immediate help.

Its Lord was dead, most of his family slaughtered.

Over two thousand lie cold and dead by the bloodstained sands of Quintilis' shores.

…oOo…

With a half-haphazard and half-methodical plan, they split the fleets across the Southern and Eastern seas of Plants. The fastest lot bound forward to Quintilis.

Count Flaga appealed to lead the fleet towards Quintilis, words resolute and will indomitable. It gave most of them pause, having rarely seen determination in this veteran commander, so used were they to his nonchalance. Kira observed him, a tad bit curious.

The King agreed readily.

…oOo…

Relieved but nowhere near calm, Athrun waited with baited breath as the last of the soldiers were briefed. The sun had begun to sink, and the crowd has dissipated somewhat by a fraction but there were still too many people waiting till they go.

He turned away from the lion sails of Kusanagi and incidentally caught something so rare.

Encased in her brother's arms, he had never seen Cagalli so small. Eyes blazing fire and unshed tears, sputtering, she whispered harshly onto his neck.

Kira patted her head, knocking his forehead on hers. His eyes held no small melancholy as he subtly, messily wiped under her eyes, all the while soft assurances filter through his lips.

Cagalli smiled at last, bright and resolute, cracking at the edges.

Despite himself, Athrun quite envy Kira for having so much hold on his wife.

…oOo…

"Cagalli."

"Athrun." Her fingers moved to her chest by force of habit, stroking the protruding gem just above her breasts. Mulling over unwanted thoughts, she took the string off and offered it to him with eyes softer than they should have been, fingers stroking the red stone pendant. "Don't die, alright? I don't want to be a widow so young."

"I've been meaning to give you something," he suddenly said after a short laugh, flushed, stealing away her interest. "It's customary in Plants for the, me, well... Here." Athrun took her left hand timidly, afraid she'd bolt, and left her momentarily breathless as a beautiful ring slid down her finger.

There was hidden depth to it, she's sure. She could see it in the way his eyes lingered on her finger. Somehow, it felt deep, meaningful perhaps in a way she couldn't fully grasp.

Their eyes met, a small endless time until he blinked and gestured towards the men on the boat waiting for him. "Well then."

"Yes. Of course. Go on."

He lingered a bit more, words stuck in his throat but so apparently written on his face. Finally he turned, facing the small boat taking him to the Angel.

Cagalli bit her lip and dejectedly sighed, eyes inevitably falling on her hand, scolding herself as she called to him, telling herself to stop as she strode after him, and cursing to high heavens as she embraced him.

She could almost pity him as he staggered back flustered, but her face was burning as it is.

It lasted longer than she'd have imagined. But she supposed it was alright.

"When you come back," she squeezed and looked up, serious and sincere, "when you come back, I'll be better. You and me, we'll begin again. I'll try to be the wife you deserve. So don't you die, soldier."

He smiled, and the seemingly perpetual sadness in his eyes vanished for a fleeting forever. Athrun kissed her temple, so subtly bold in his own way, replying along lines that made her just a tiny bit warmer. Kissing him was easier the second time around, and though it was no briefer than the first, it was sweeter than she remembered. In his lips spilled a promise, an obligation, a silent " _I won't die_."

"Until then."

"Goodbye."

…oOo…

Orb sang her goodbye to fathers, sons and grandsons – for victory and fare-thee-well, a melody so bittersweet.


	8. Chapter 7

VII.

* * *

Like all good battles, their war started at sea.

Strong and deep bellows of cannons heralded their day of salvation. It would be a battle that lasted three days and two nights. Jibril's naval army were no easy soldiers, but Haumea's warriors were made for glories in the sea god's dominion.

Slowly the captors tire one catapult at a time, though tough and tougher they grew desperate as their ships sunk one by one. The sea blaze into the nights and mornings and afternoons, fire singing on the sails of battered behemoths.

…o…

On the horizon, they see Quintilis burning.

In a fit of anger and madness, they discover not an hour later, Jibril's cowardly soldiers slaughtered women and burned them naked on the bloody shores.

…o…

There were no Hahnenfuss to welcome them. Their fortress stood upon a hill, deeper into land, solid still atop its razed roots.

 _Lord Ali Hahnenfuss_ , Mwu remembered. He closed his eyes in prayer, seeing the face of his younger self, eager and impatient with youth, sailing far beyond his father's domain. A man, older and kindly and not without adventure in his eyes, giving him food and teaching him how to properly sail.

They died with the greatest honor— fighting for their land, fighting for their people. Fighting on their feet! The same cannot be said to those who died on their knees.

Hands clenched by his sides, Mwu lamented.

 _I was late, old man. Forgive me_.

…oOo…

The sea to Martius was littered with enemies every which way. Kira held no singular responsibility in getting his fleet to tear through enemy ships. He had excellent men in his ranks and though he lost more men than he'd hoped, their deaths were honored with great respects.

Death gave more value to his desire to end this as early as he could.

He did not care for war, resented bloodshed. But Jibril makes play of men's lives and that, he could never stomach. So he shall see this war through, bloody his hands black, bathe in the gore of the game of wars.

Then he will bring his men home. To warmth and family, to love and life. Away from this hell and its wrath.

…oOo…

Half of Martius was already under Jibril's power and though they were strong, Plants' soldiers were dwarfed in number. It was only a matter of time they knew, and time was no man's friend.

The great Vesalius stood erect behind them, home of Martius' Lords, and its last stand. The battle raged on its pristine lawn, bloody now and ugly and a vast battlefield. It came as a miracle then when a horn rang loud from the south and two large banners wave from the distance.

"Riders! Riders of Orb! They finally came!"

Mounted on warhorses, haloed by burning sunlight, Prince Kira of Orb and his cavalry intrude on a losing battle and charged into the battlefield from the rolling hills of the bloody Martius. Chaos sang his song and the war god bellowed a deep laughter as a storm of hooves trampled over grass and blood and bodies. Metal against metal, neighs upon neighs, screams over screams—'twas a wonderful harmony.

The Red Knights, repossessed with vigor, forced their way through the pandemonium and made a path to meet the red gryphon banner of the House Zala halfway through. And on, they rally.

…oOo…

Cringing at the pain, Athrun hissed as the young medic knotted his wound.

"How is it?"

"I'll live," he said looking up, grim. "And yours?"

"It isn't as painful as it looks." Rusty half-smiled, bowing to the other man inside the tent. "Your Highness."

"Please. There is no formality between friends."

Rusty nodded, humbled by the sincerity. He looked to Athrun, who shrugged unperturbed. "Oh," he seemed to remember, "congratulations on your marriage Athrun! I hadn't the chance to write. I hear she's quite lovely."

"The right word should be beastly."

"Kira." Athrun reproached exasperatedly the same time Rusty's brows rise.

"Don't deny truth, it's unbecoming." Kira chuckled to Athrun's shaking head. "If I may ask," he sobered quick, fixing a stare at a thoroughly amused Rusty, "has there been any word from Quintilis?"

"About that…"

…oOo…

"What time is it sister?"

"Reed, we're getting closer. Just hang a bit more, please. Please."

"It's so dark."

Deep into the woods, giant trees crowd around them, and she swallowed an empty bile for the sun was peeking from the gaps, and it is _bright enough_. She hollowly thought of bloodlines ( _please no, stop, don'tdon'tdon't, stop—!_ ) as she whispered on her brother's good ear. "I know. But I need you to hold on, hmm? Just 'til sundown and you can rest." Her grip on the reigns tightened, forcing her mare to go faster, faster, faster please. She has only tasted fear once, twice now, and it scalds her tongue the same, burning down her throat and settling like a scorching poison on her belly. It hurt. Bloody hell everything hurt.

"Is your stomach better?"

She couldn't breathe, hasn't breathed for so long. "…No pet, but it will be."

She felt fingertips on her cheek and…"S'alright, don't cry Shiho."

…oOo…

Battles come and go, victories did too. And they lost too, more than they could ever want to admit.

Their world became bleak, boring, monotone, with the sporadic thrill of their blood boiling. They grew restless as each month pass, bone-weary and tired. Uncertainty slowly clawed into their hearts – of how long this war would last, of how far they had to go, of how many lives they had to take and be taken from them. All for the people not even their own.

They tire of war and of blood.

It was the ugliest thing.

…oOo…

Far away from war, Princess Cagalli don on a pale blue tunic tucked in comfortable breeches, hair gathered into a cap. In the mirror, she looked more man than woman.

She rove the town square at night, more festive and colorful perhaps, watching people, eating kebabs and enjoying the anonymity. The square was alive with music and color and food – people loved their festivals, they do.

It was all a bit contradictory. On her part, on Kira and Papa, they grieve still. She wished they'd stop.

Months had passed and she knew nothing.

"It's your nameday, little dove _."_ She looked up resigned, wishing Kira sees the same stars and let the lantern in her hands float. Its light grew tiny and tinier as each second pass and Cagalli closed her eyes, wishing peace on the morrow, murmuring to a passing wind a " _I remember you still Star, love you still_. _Always_."

On a different land, Kira broke off from the company of drunk men singing their tall tales and favored to nurse his ale alone in his tent. Behind the hands covering his face, renegade tears fell.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Happy New Year! This story should've been updated way, way July 2017 but ff messed my formatting (the latter part of '17 hadn't been the best too) sooo I kinda sorta didn't wanna continue this but alas here we are. FF still messed my formatting here, hope you don't mind. Also, I reread the whole thing. I'm proly gonna rewrite the first few chapters bcos goddamn, it's really fucking cringey.

* * *

VIII.

* * *

Quintilis was known as the breeding ground for hulking warriors. Her people were huge as they were loyal to her Lords, and free were they as the folks of the Free Cities.

Lacus held no small respect for people like Lady Shiho Hahnenfuss. Lady Shiho who wielded power in her hands so firmly, feminine and beautiful, and yet strong enough to freely ride and fight and battle alongside the King's Knights. There is no greater honor, or so men say. She had looked so indomitable all her life that Lacus almost couldn't recognize the woman sleeping in front of her. Thin and pale, her eyes sunken in, she looked more dead than alive it was disturbing.

The new Lord of Quintilis, a boy of barely nine, wouldn't have survived had his sister arrived a day late.

 _"It's alright to grieve Lady Shiho, to shed tears. We are all human, we are all entitled to feel."_ She had remembered saying to a broken, closed-off woman. ' _How foolish_ ,' she thinks now.

" _My older brother had to die for me to remember that we do not cow." Shiho had paused, smiling - a tiny thing, sad, painful to watch. "Not to pain, not to our demons. That we are stubborn people, with glory written in our blood. So do not tell me to grieve," her eyes stare at Lacus', deep and full of sorrow, voice breaking, "when there is only respect to be had."_

Later that night, Lacus penned hesitantly:

 _Lord Joule,_

 _Yzak my old friend, I hope this letter finds you well. Sit and stay_

 _calm, I beg. I have with me here in Junius, your wife. She is alive just as_

 _you had believed, but…_

…oOo…

The paper crunched in her fingers, the words echoing so heavily she had to grasp something to stay upright.

 _Dearest Cagalli,_

 _This may very well put me out of the King's good graces, but you_

 _have to know. I have heard of whispers from your father's close advisors_

 _and the murmurs of the servants under my employ. My dear friend, it_

 _seems to me that they blind you to the happenings of Plants' war._ _His_

 _Majesty means well of course, I understand. But this news I disagree_

 _of keeping from you._

 _Kira has been injured. Gravely, my servants say._ _The battle over_

 _Martius had come to an end and the results close_ _to a draw. Through the_

 _support of our forces, the Joule's reclaimed most of_ _their lands. The war_

 _skirts towards Junius slowly, and it was in one of Kira's_ _patrols –he insisted!_

 _the stubborn fool— that his party was ambushed. That_ _had been ten days_

 _past. I'm afraid he hasn't woken yet._

 _Keep to faith Cagalli._

 _Always,_ _Milly Haww_

…oOo…

Riding ceaseless from dawn to dusk for six days seemed to have taken its toll on his body. Athrun had not rested, had not slept for so long, he could sleep where he's standing. Behind him, Nicol did not seemed fazed, though he rested no more than Athrun did. He was conversing with Lunamaria Hawke, a lesser lady from Januarius, whose skill in medicine was apparently unparalleled.

Accompanied by Nicol's young squire, they both had ridden for days North-East for fear of the Prince's life. His wounds were deep and plenty, and he ran sporadic fevers. The arrow that had went clean through his shoulder had been tipped with poison, they found. In normal circumstances, it would have mattered not, knowing well that the body could only take so much. But Kira was not of Plants and he was not of normal station. Someone as significant as him mustn't die on foreign soil. And really, Athrun had no desire for him to.

When he entered his private room on the still-standing citadel—a holdfast west of Martius, where Orb soldiers were currently camped— he all but collapsed onto his stiff bed. Athrun closed his eyes, clutching the stone on his chest.

Carnage thrives behind the lids that cover his eyes. Screams echoed relentless in his mind, horns blowing, resounding the tune of steel, so deafening he might as well have been the one screaming, and Kira… Kira was no saint after all.

He dreamt of demons, who wield great swords and wear castle-forged armor with kind eyes and a friendly smile and how, how could they be so twisted.

…oOo…

The ale he gulped down didn't nearly burn as much as he would have wanted. Neither did it drown the jolly noise of overly round men plucking strings and blowing air on their instruments by the stage. He sighed, frustrated. He couldn't even have a quiet night to himself. If and when he gets drunk enough, he might cripple one or two. Or all three, depends. The air was thick with smoke and outside the waves bore against the massive rocks by the docks. The server came trotting towards him, tits practically falling from her dress. She bent over while giving him his refill, winking.

Fun, these Orbians – with their songs and their tales and their wenches.

"Traveler," a deep voice began and he looked up to see a hulking man the size of a bull. "That you, ser?"

"Might be, m'lord. Though I'm no ser."

"Very well. Do you happen to be a sellsword as well?"

He smirked. "Why yes."

"Good. You are the one then. Take my charge to Plants, however much you want I will give you."

Taken aback by the man's straightforwardness, he sputtered. "However much? And to Plants of all places! Are you not informed? There's a war there! No place for us good folks. You can't afford me, m'lord. Now go, I hear my ale screeching for me."

The man slammed his hands on the table so abruptly his tankard toppled over. The words were said low, flat, _dangerous_. "You will take him to Plants. Otherwise, I will have your head mounted on a spike come midnight."

A pouch was carelessly tossed on the table and it clattered against the wood hollowly, a ghost of a telltale color peeking around the edges of it. There were only so few people who can intimidate him into silence.

"Gently, he'll wet himself," he heard a voice sigh exasperatedly.

The huge man ignored the comment, black eyes never leaving his. "What say you?"

"Fine." He nodded, suppressing the urge to swallow. "Three days from now there's a cargo ship bound for Plants. Meet me here by noon." He glanced to the side, to the cloaked boy, and he grouched, condescending. "Pack for the cold m'lord. The north is no friend to a summer lad."

"Long journey then." The lad took the pouch of gold and levelled him with a steady stare, amber eyes so bright and deep they were almost the color of gold coins. "The route for December is safer, Kisaka. As much out of harm's way just as you'd demanded." As though an afterthought he ordered, "Your name."

Annoyance flared from his chest and scattered as he glared under his nose. The lad's voice was deep, though not deep enough, and grated on his nerves so. "Shinn"

…oOo…

 _Father, forgive my being disobedient. I know the dangers and_

 _have a_ _healthy enough temper to oppose you or the gods, as you are_

 _aware._ _This_ _was not entirely without caution, I promise._

 _Papa, you know I cannot bear to lose another sibling._

 _-Cagalli_


	10. Chapter 9

IX.

* * *

The urgent rapping on the door snatched Athrun away from a merciful sleep. A messenger greeted him on the other side of the door, a pale man with deep-seated eyes. He nodded his thanks, and on the old messenger went.

Athrun eyed the letter with some trepidation, thumb grazing the royal seal of the Orb King.

It had come from the North, along with a December troop, the messenger had informed. As do everything else these days, Athrun thought. He huffed, breaking the seal and opening the letter.

…oOo…

It took all of a fortnight for Shinn Asuka to confirm that his cargo was in fact, without cock; not that he checked of course, he might lose his. He was half deluded, he knew. But gods be damned, this woman was… Shinn sighed, shallow, realization sinking deep in the chaos of his mind. It roared, stilled, grumbled at last.

She stared at him, eerily blank.

"I've heard tales of you," he continues, couldn't stare back. "Heard your stories sang in the streets of the free cities, as far as Old Scandinavia."

"Took you long enough, eh."

He pondered it for a while, detached and aware both, grasping at loose understandings. She hadn't even the decency to disprove his claim. He grumbled shortly, "Bah, you're not even denying it."

The Orb Princess, fierce and free-spirited— the wildest of the Lion's cubs, the whores sang. The Orb Princess, they purr, who smiled at the chance to touch steel, against skin, against bones.

"You don't need me to protect you."

The woman had the gall to smirk. "No. I don't." Gaze sobering she leveled him with a cunning stare. Shinn did not know why he thought it looked sad. "Not all of us are entitled to the same freedom though, good man. Thus, you."

…o…

Later, when the waves were kinder, and not everything rocked precariously sideways, she inquired how he knew. "I'm not unfamiliar with deception, Your Grace. People like me survive where I can, how I can." Mayhaps his irreverence to her is disrespectful, her title just a little too mocking on his lips.

"Oh?" Her lips quirked at one corner, amused, curious. "You have a bad habit of intimidating the wrong people, boy."

"Aye, that's true" He scowled, conceding easily. Later yet, Shinn said, satirical. "What is true too is you are terrible in guise, begging your pardon Your Grace. Have no one told you you're too pretty to be a man?"

The laugh she barked out held no prettiness. "You should see my husband!"

…oOo…

When Yzak pushed open the door, he had been prepared for anything. When he closed it, he knew not anymore. The room was not stifling, the drapes bright, frigid in the early winter winds. In the huge bed set in the center of the room, rested his wife.

She looked calm, as she had always been. Quiet, as she glanced at him.

She looked broken, as she never was. Vacant, like an empty thing.

 _Thump, thump, thump_ , his heart hollowly beats. And so he approached, breath held.

"I couldn't come any sooner, forgive me."

"It matters not Yzak. Don't apologize."

Silence rested in the space between them, anxious and restrained both. He looked over her bare arms, sees the fading bruises, the wounds, and bit his lip so hard he tasted his own blood. There is too much calm in her eyes, underneath which he knew was far too much of everything else.

The bed dips as he sat in front of her, aching, holding himself together. His hand grazed hers and Shiho flinches, snatching away her hand as though burned. Taken aback, voice suddenly the ice it always was, he asked, "What did they do to you?"

It was only when his fingers touched her stomach did Shiho let out the tears she had been holding back for so long. "Many things." She whispered the words, so soft were they but the entirety of her shatters all the same. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I couldn't-"

He knew it. Of course, he'd known. His wife alive in his arms alone is a miracle and he is grateful, so grateful. But something clenched inside him still, and he is all too tired of loss.

Yzak kissed her, slow and with enough fire to warm both themselves. And Shiho, broken, childless Shiho, crumples in his arms and howl her grief in his chest.

Tonight, they mourn their dead child.

…oOo…

Cagalli heard the hissing before she did the pounding, and swiftly took the knife from under her makeshift pillow. Shinn was laid face first in the wooden floor beneath a stocky man, hissing for her. She launched a kick at the goon's head with enough strength to make him dizzy, used the momentum to straddle his chest, and proceeded to hold her blade an inch over the man's eye.

"You have ten seconds."

The man held her gaze and looked at the blade. She did not withdraw and he did not beg. "Forgive me for the rude awakening, Your Grace. Your guard did not listen. Necklace, if you may."

Narrowed eyes so impossibly dark, Cagalli locked her thighs harder. She snatched the string from beneath the man's cloak and a silver ring hangs, around which was bound a small, rolled note. She read it and blanched, loosening her hold.

"You're a Zala soldier." He nodded. "Right. Forgive my violence." The man only offered an awkward smile, placating. She sat down, sighing deeply, looking at the man. "Has Athrun sent you?"

"No Princess Cagalli, the Lady Zala did."

…oOo…

The letter sat opened between Kira and Athrun, the words swirling and curving in Lady Lenore Zala's graceful handwriting.

"I'll be heading for December in two days."

Kira looked towards Athrun, whose frown is as deep as it could go. He had never seen Athrun upset, and even Dearka hadn't the balls to remark on it. "I am as livid as you, please understand. But I know my sister, and she means no harm though she causes it." Kira sat straighter, careful not to aggravate his shoulder too much. He murmurs something to himself, whisper soft.

"What?"

"Nothing. Send my regards. And my ire."


	11. Chapter 10

Bet you'll like.

* * *

X.

* * *

Had she more layers, Cagalli would have drowned. But better that than this unbearable cold. She woke slowly, reluctant to open her eyes, her numb fingers finding shelter in fur-lined blanket. _Bloody winter_ , she thought sleepily, turning around and hugging herself more tightly. She blinked twice, and came fully awake.

There, on the lounge, was her husband, watching her.

Cagalli rose hesitantly, silent on her feet, dragging a thick blanket secure around her. So much frustration cloud his gaze that she almost stopped herself from touching the new scar just beneath his eye. Though she did not, Athrun stopped her all the same. "What happened to this?" she asked instead, voice husky from sleep.

"Have you no idea the consequences of what you have done?"

Swathed in so little light, Cagalli witness Athrun break calm. He did not scream no, but he might as well have for all the words struck true where he meant it to. With the tiny shards of dignity she stubbornly held in her hand, Cagalli accepts his righteous anger with a raised chin. She is defiant, that she is, but she knew her faults.

"When I was much younger," she started after a poignant silence that stretched far too long. "I had a rendezvous with death."

Quiet and heart bled open in this cold night, she bared what little she can with a smile so sad. And Athrun, silent in his fury, was held transfixed.

"I lost half my family." She came closer to him, fingertips touching just shy of his scarred cheek, eyes trailing after its slow sweep. "I know the dangers. I am aware of the consequences. Still, I will brave through all of it to ensure I lose nobody else."

She met Athrun's eyes and as always, it takes a little breath out of her. They're Lenore Zala's eyes, she realized now — those that drown you, those shaped to be kind. And as they lost little of their rage with a sigh that of loathed resignation, she kissed his small scar and begged.

"Help me Athrun."

…o…

Light started streaming though the large windows when the ladies came to dress Her Grace. When asked after the Lord Athrun, one dutifully answered, eager to please. "My lord Athrun is on the forge Your Grace, pounding on his metals even before dawn. The stewards say he hadn't slept since arriving in the early hours."

The oldest of the servants knew to keep her words to herself though; when upset, the Lord Athrun has always tended to lock himself in the forge, hammering away his indignations. By the frown of the foreign Princess, she knew all too well it wasn't anything small.

…oOo…

"Is there nothing of my land that appeals to your heart, Your Grace?"

Embarrassingly startled, Cagalli turned away from the beautiful view beyond the large window to greet the Lord of the North, his Lady in his arm. "But there is My Lord, the cold has not agreed with me yet is all. I've only ever read of winter lands in the books my governess gave me." She curtseyed to Lord Patrick's stiff bow. "I have hope you had a good journey my Lord."

"Oh, my poor daughter-in-law," Lady Lenore fussed, "where is your husband darling? That boy ought to show you around. Is he still in his forge sulking?"

"Please Lenore, I'd advise not calling Athrun a boy when he no longer is. Especially in front of his wife."

Lady Zala's laughter sounded like bell chimes, and Cagalli didn't try suppressing her smile.

…oOo…

The sizzle of the smoldering blade as it dunk into cold water had always been satisfying, but it doesn't quite please him as much at the moment. A curt knock has him turning around to see his father. Athrun nods, vaguely aware of the soot all over himself. They exchange polite pleasantries until his Lord Father enquired, "Do people know?"

Catching on, Athrun shook his head. "No Father. Only the Prince's most trusted. Kira rather likes to keep her here for the time being. For her safety, as much as his sanity I'd wager."

"You'd do well to know your place as her husband. Let the Prince acknowledge that she no longer is his sister, but your wife. You hold more ground Athrun."

Athrun blinked, — equal parts chastised and insulted — took a second to reply. "I agreed with him. I would want her to stay away from the South, yes. Better here in the cold rather than the damn battles."

His father chuckled. "I'd like to remind you, son, that your wife is the farthest from a whimpering woman. But yes, keep her North as long as you can. We don't want any of Jibril's birds catching sight of a most valuable figure. It is only our luck she hadn't escaped off quick enough when your mother had her fetched." Lord Patrick grabbed a dirty rag and took out the cooled blade, holding it up. "Fine work, Athrun."

…oOo…

Resolute, Athrun opened the door to Cagalli's chambers. The ladies in waiting scatter around until he ordered for their leave. Cagalli sat by the window in her woolen shawl, her atrocious neddlework forgotten in her lap, deadpan eyes daring him to comment.

It took mighty work trying to keep a straight face. "Let your ladies pack your possessions." Cagalli brightened instantaneously, and though that pleased him greatly, he had to break her hope for now. "We're heading for my household Copernicus."

…oOo…

She did not get frostbitten fortunately, warm enough in Lady Zala's best pelt. The grip she had around Athrun's waist was tight, so unfamiliar to riding in snow was the summer princess. She'd tried riding her own mount, but hadn't ridden three miles until she resigned to her fate.

By the next afternoon, after a hard ride with his squires not far behind, the tall stone walls of his castle could be seen. Cagalli had a thing to say of course, lost to the wind though he caught the bit of awe in the tone. Copernicus lie on the gentle slopes of his winter moors. They'd taken the more scenic route, away from the roads that led to the shire.

Servants greet them and half a dozen dogs. A portly man helped Cagalli down and bowed before her. The dogs whine and circle around Athrun as he dismounted, competing for a chance to get their overgrown mugs petted.

Come night, Athrun took her away from his animated servants, and her hand in the crook of his arm, he guided her towards his vast winter garden.

"Forgive my servants, they excite over my marriage more than anyone," Athrun ventured.

"They're happy for you," Cagalli stated absently, rubbing her palms and breathing on them. She'd forgotten her gloves.

"They're happy for us," he corrected. "The North is wide, and its Lords plenty. I was made Earl of Copernicus when I was a boy, and now as my wife, you are its Countess. You are my servants' Mistress."

"From Crown Princess to Countess. Big leap, that; though I can't say I'm displeased."

He looked at her, intrigued, though indulges her with frivolous conversation that would otherwise raise eyebrows every which way. He exhaled a breath, shoulders relaxing — an extended silence between them after. "Ah, but I am fond of this place."

Cagalli stifled the show of her relief. Had she been crueler and younger, she'd not have cared for a husband's ire, or the husband himself honestly. But Athrun was a good man, and she'd promised to be better besides. "How so, Athrun?"

He smiled, those gentle ones she rarely sees on anyone really, and his voice, when it comes, is tender. "Look up." She obeyed and lo and behold, the sky comes alive. A quiet gasp tore its way out of her, and she is altogether breathless and _oh_ , what a way to lose your breath.

"They're called the Northern Lights." Athrun reached for her hands, one after the other, and bowed to kiss it. His lips lingered and her hands she found, mortified, weren't as cold as they were a few moments ago. He looked up, held her gaze. "Welcome to Plants, my Lady Zala."


	12. Chapter 11

XI.

* * *

"Woah, there!" Cagalli wheezed, reining the beast beneath her to a stop just inside the courtyard. Snow clung to her eyelashes, blush bright on her cheeks, and she held a hand against the vivid afternoon sun.

Athrun and his small hunting party had just arrived she sees; both squires carrying a large carcass inside, Athrun himself rounding his horse to see as she entered. "You went riding unaccompanied?"

Huffing, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I can handle myself just fine. What did you fell for dinner?"

He chastises some more though held her waist as she unmounts.

Later— _later_ , when it was only them and he had just shed his cloak off, a single winter bloom comes away from it. And with that increasingly, infuriatingly, familiar fluttering inside her, she accepted it with red cheeks and a curt nod.

"I saw it and remembered you."

…oOo…

Arms crossed on his chest, Athrun looked to the side to see his wife correct the stance on one of his younger wards. She straightened the boy's back, positions his wrist just so, stilling his trembling fingers on the bow. When he let loose the string, he hits just inside the black mark. The young boy shouts, boasting to the wind, to the earls and barons his age, having just landed his very first arrow. Cagalli pat his head, urging him to continue.

Some of her hair sticks out of its braid at the crown of her head, her neck is too lovely a curve and Athrun cleared his throat, looking away to watch as yet another of the older boys charged at the quintain. She seemed radiant in this light— a grin on her lips, small children at her flanks.

His spine tingled.

…oOo…

"Why are you doing this?"

Cagalli glares warily, for Athrun has continued to give her trinkets and flowers and it so rankles her. For though she was used to being given all these, she never had the taste for them. But her husband indulging her with these useless feminine fancy, it tilts her balance. Secretly, she stashed these jewelries in a simple wooden box.

Because it brought _this_ certain kind of light in his eyes whenever she puts one of these on and it's a pleasant look on him.

With a half-smile on his lips, Athrun teased, "Why do you think?"

…oOo…

He glances at her fingers often, couldn't but feel disappointed at finding nothing.

…oOo…

Flames dancing in front of them, good cheer between them, and wine warm in their belly, there really should be no reason to be cold.

But Cagalli braved the distance between them still, remembering Lady Lenore's voice, soothing, earnest, pleading, ' _Take care of my son, my dear. Give him a chance_. _Give both of yourselves a chance. You'll soon find it's not too bad a gamble_.'

His quiet laughter was honest and it is becoming something to be cherished for how rare it was. Cagalli welcomed it now, not reluctantly, not anymore and makes a promise to herself. To make the best of what they have, to choose not to fight it, to choose to be happy instead.

And so when Athrun bid her goodnight with a sloppy kiss to her palm, she stopped him from going out of her chambers with it against his cheek.

"Stay"

"Are you inviting me to your bed my lady?" he asked this half-jokingly.

"Of course I am." Breezy, calm, and easy, she responded. "It's cold and you are warm enough. You'll have to do my lord."

"You never call me that."

"I do in my head when you're being especially insufferable."

"I wonder how often that is." He laughed again and stripped to his nightclothes and they sleep on her bed, closer than they dared. And this right here, this is where they begin.

…oOo…

Athrun closed his eyes and prayed for frozen time, for the sun brought with her light and his wife lays languid beside him on the featherbed, lips parted, hair in disarray — a graceless mess. A familiar warmth curls in the core of him.

He reached over, took her hand — scarred, rough, _warrior hand_ – and pressed it to his chest as her eyelashes flutter, and eyes _so amber and so warm,_ they open, and a quiet, husky _good morning darling_ and _oh…_

This would be the rest of his life.

…oOo…

Weeks after the snow melted and the greens reborn anew, a messenger comes before dawn. Wild with the rush of a grueling ride, garbed in telltale black. He brought with him a foreboding storm, a certain kind of sadness clinging to him like a thick winter cloak.

Crimson eyes could only stare ever down as he rambles, sorry and uncomfortable in the face of a dead woman's son. "Well, ah. I was the fastest rider they could find. A raven has been sent to your Lord father… It's your mother m'lord. I'm sorry to tell you… I'm afraid she's gone."

Shinn looked away as Athrun Zala's world fracture around him.

…oOo…

Notes: I am beyond redemption with my tenses. And I use commas more than I should. Hope you don't mind it too much. Sorry to keep you on your toes the last couple months, but I had just graduated university and having no other half-assed excuse, I had no choice but to pretend that being an adult doesn't suck. Tell me your thoughts!


	13. Chapter 12

XII.

* * *

Stone faced men and women gather around the Duchess' tomb. Garbed in mourning black, the House of Zala is a severe sight – a halo of bright hair, pale eyes, and black clothes around Lenore Zala's resting place. There were no tears to be shed in these steel eyes and no hollowed-out cries, not even stray infinitesimal sobs. Their spines will never bend, not even to sorrow.

They shall not be questioned for this.

Shiho Joule watched with stalwart eyes, holding Ezalia's cold hand in both of hers. _You do not wear public grief on a private sleeve_ , she thought. None wear these words as fine as the Duke of December himself. He looked as indifferent as always but Shiho knew to see where others do not, for that very adage is her everyday creed.

She faced forward, staring with almost detached fascination the woman beside Athrun Zala. The black veil covering her face does nothing to conceal who she truly was.

Before now, Cagalli Yula Athha was just a name.

 _Cagalli_ , her lips form the foreign name as Nicol Amalfi came to say words on Athrun's ear. Nicol inclined his head toward the Princess, an almost bow that at normal circumstance would be disrespectful.

There is always something to be said of Royalty. Even Kira, Prince of Orb— who she met in Junius (when his shoulder was ruined and she was altogether a ruin). Even he who was far too quiet and reserved for someone of his titles; he knew to use his voice and people would bend over backwards. The Princess catches her staring and holds her gaze, solid, defiant, protective– a warning, perhaps: _take a step back, please_ , _my husband needs me more than you need answers_.

Shiho nods in recognition and the Countess of Copernicus mirrored the deliberate motion.

They shall not be questioned for this as well. For the Zala was a powerful House and the Reaper whisper death to any who doubt them.

…oOo…

Lacus cut the stem of a flower to a desired length and put it on a crystal vase along with the others.

Outside, the outline of a man stood. Brown strands of hair glide in near perfect straightness, and ever woeful eyes she can't nearly discern much as she'd like, were away from the here and now.

He'd be leaving soon. As healed soldiers are wont to do.

She can't help the sad smile at the thought.

…oOo…

Cagalli knocks on the door to Athrun's study and finds not her husband, but scattered papers on the floor - as though the windows had been left open and Athrun had not cared to pick them up. She picked those papers now, sparing few a neutral glance.

She does not bother to knock again before she opened the door to his private chambers. There she found Athrun, relaxing on a reclined chair, a thousand leagues away from her still. She stared for however long, but the more she seemed to look, the less she sees.

"How can I help you?"

Her voice seemed to wake him from a dream. It had cracked, slightly, and Cagalli felt weak in her uselessness. She crossed the room in decisive steps, not letting herself be bothered by the stiffening of Athrun's shoulders as she sat down on his lap, hands on his cheeks.

"How can I make it better? Athrun, _let me."_

It took long for him to accept this comfort. But with her forehead pressed to his and her lips trembling 'neath her lashes, it is the most that he let himself _feel_ the grief. Here, in this moment of mutual weakness, he heard his heart beat clearly and did not resent it.

In the arms of his wife, he comes undone. Tears drop unreservedly down and he drowns willingly in misery, words garbling out in halts – _mother, she was good, I wasn't there, dear gods, none of us were… I didn't have the chance to say goodbye… must've been lonely, surely, must've hurt_ – and Cagalli embraces him close to her all the while, combing long fingers through his hair.

She doesn't try and tell him sweet little nothings.

…o…

After, he whispers softly in her ear, drawing her just a little closer, a promise he will take to his grave. He will lose no one else.

"I'll protect you."

…oOo…

Court appeals in a letter, addressed by one of Plant's senseless king's advisors. To welcome the Crown Princess of Orb formally, hold a royal ball in her name; celebrate her and feast for her.

Cagalli bore the pains of diplomacy with accustomed grace. But as the letter hung in her lady maid's dainty hand, Lenore Zala's laughter rings in her mind and she remembers that it had sounded like bell chimes. Too, it echoed on other's lips; an infectious thing she was the late Duchess, full of elegance and kindness.

"I don't wish to partake in it," dismissed Cagalli.

 _The audacity of them_ , she thought, and annoyed, she adds: "Burn it."

…oOo…

"Will it ever stop hurting?"

Cagalli's eyes remain downcast as she replied, "No. But you'll learn to live with it."

Athrun, no longer hesitant, ventured, "What were they like?"

"They were good people. They did not deserve their deaths." She clears her throat, finding still, after all these years, the void that refused to be filled. She graced him with a painful smile. "Star—my little sister Stellar, she would have made a far better princess. Sweetest girl. The sun paled in comparison to her smile. You'd have adored her." Then, haltingly, _achingly_ , "I miss her every day."

…oOo…

"We are none of us undamaged," somberly said one of the older servants as he escorted her and the younger wards through the moorlands, children's laughter echoing around them. "Even these young'uns. Forced away from home. Live up here, constantly in fear of never going back."

He had lost two sons and a daughter, Cagalli remembered. His sons to war, and his daughter to childbed fever. He had others, but still.

"Indeed," she agreed.

"I am unsure if any had conveyed as much, your Grace" he sighed, the lines on his face creasing with the untold stories of a life lived. "It's one measly thanks coming from an insignificant old man, but thank you for helping my country."

Something gentle and warm touched Cagalli's heart and she knew that this moment would remain with her forever. With the sun beaming in between the tall grass and laughter floating in the air and this old man and the privilege of age and what it meant to have a future.

She bit her trembling lips, swallowed her words, and remembers what it was to be helpless. To be drained of hope; and a scar on her chest aches like a phantom wound.

The old man smiled.

…oOo…

Cagalli's taste is not unfamiliar to him. He had kissed her more than he can count – harmless, simple kisses to her cheeks and forehead and lips, her hands too. And she had kissed him just the same, just as prudently, just as much.

But he had never kissed her quite like this. The one that takes both their breaths away, one that makes her moan and push her chest to his. One that – that lets an immoral sound out from deep in his throat. That makes him _want_.

All slow and gradual, her lips, her tongue, her hands. So close she breathed his breaths, so deep she ate his words. Somewhere between his lips and her neck, they both lose themselves.

"Cagalli…"

So this was what hunger felt like.

…o…

"Why do you stop?"

His breaths were hot and uneven against the side of her neck, his voice strained as his finger caught the pendant on her thin silver chain. "I vowed to myself long ago, when I had been younger and my peers prone to temptation. To never bring a child in the world without love."

"Not even for duty?"

"Not even for duty."

She drew away and stared, as almost hesitantly he caressed the red ring hanging between her breasts. Emerald green eyes dark and lovely, and they are open and honest now, sweeping lashes flickering as he looked up at her. Alive with lust and something else, something _deep (_ reminds her of a pier, breath stolen, a ring sliding into her finger _)_ , but willing her to understand what he wants in this marriage. _Not even for duty_ , and she feels— _feels_ unmade and made again, this time with kinder hands.

Cagalli pressed her head in his heartbeats, feeling her fears sleep slowly, delicately, in the strength of its sound.

"I'm glad," she whispered at last, thought too:

 _'It would be easy to love him.'_


	14. Chapter 13

Hey. I know, I'm such a bad author updating this half a year after the last. Sorry. Forgive me?

* * *

XIII.

* * *

The god of death came aknocking on a beautiful spring day under a drizzling sky.

With Quintilis divided and the Orbians ordered to march for their Prince's camp outside it, it took only so little for the enemy to break through the noble's few soldiers and attack an ill-prepared Junius. Blood ran in its sewers, bloodier than even the shores of Quintilis. The city hell itself, burning, _burning_ until there was nothing left to burn. Its soil so saturated with blood surely it must never know the scent of grass again.

"I will stay my hand no longer."

The Earl of Copernicus had broken his silence with those muttered words, long after the message had been said. Stretched and ominous was that silence and until now he could still feel the hair on his neck rise. And the squire dressed his lord now, never not admiring the armor that recognized him as Commander.

The dead and dying lie on Junius' streets by the thousands; men, women, old and young. Splintered bone upon torn skin, ripped entrails on bloody fountains, burned meat on burned soil. What few left are hollow men, mad in their trauma, eyes baring the things they've been forced to witness.

 _What evil our enemy_ , thought he, savagely and pitifully, tears unshed, _to kill and rejoice in it_.

…oOo…

"You _must_ stay in sanctuary and you will! I shall not hear any more of this."

The grip of his hand on her elbow dug stiffly. Still Cagalli fought steel with steel, pulling it away hard enough Athrun let go. Hissing, she raged, "I am not one of your soldiers my lord. You _dare_ command me. You call me wife, yet you casually forget who you actually married?"

"It is for that damn crown you wear that you must—"

"Must, _must!_ If I hear that word again, I swear! How bold of you to deny me my liberty. I will not stand for it anymore Athrun. You will not order me around like you would everybody else! I am not your servant!"

"No, you are my wife!" His hands raised halfway, as if it wanted to shake her. "And that is not my intent and you do know it. All I want is your safety Cagalli, and if I must gain your animosity in having it, so be it."

Suddenly, she went rigid and slowly she spoke, "Being a soldier yourself, I imagine you knew a command when you hear it." Her chin raised, flippant, cold and this imperialism rubs both of them raw. "Bring me to my people."

…oOo…

Men came to arms, fifty thousand strong.

Hardened men, features as cold as weathered stone, with vengeance in their veins and enraged cries buried in their hearts.

No more, they thought. _No more_ , they roared.

…oOo…

"Good evening, gentlemen."

Men looked up from the maps they'd been studying and at once bowed as a woman enters. Curiously, Heine glanced at Athrun Zala and watched in amusement as his friend frowned. _Ah, trouble_ , he surmised, feeling the somber air mix with something else. When he looked to her again, Heine bit the inside of his cheek as one by one his respectable brothers-in-arms cowed in the challenging glare Cagalli of Orb sent each their way.

"I shall accompany you south."

Heine sobered when that solid stare glanced his way. Amusement aside, what she was asking for was dangerous in all fronts. And it appears she can't be denied. He does not look away; to do so would be beneath him. Instead, he smiled and was awarded with a reluctant curve upon the Princess' lips.

"I believe we've not been acquainted."

"Indeed we haven't your Grace. My name is Heine Westenfluss, Duke of September. It is my pleasure to finally meet you."

"As it is mine, my lord. I have heard a great many things of you."

"All good, I hope?"

Princess Cagalli snorted, halfway to sarcasm. " _Naturally_. What tales come out of dreamy maids, after all?"

Heine could feel the glare burning a hole at his back and chose to ignore it. "Well then. You wished to join us?"

…o…

"You had no right Heine." A ginger brow arched pointedly. "You may be my superior, but lines are drawn for a reason."

"True; but tell me, Athrun," cavalier, Heine shrugged a shoulder. "Would you rather the Princess stay here? With nobody competent enough to protect her from both herself and Jibril who now knows she's in Plants?"

Athrun's jaw worked, teeth grinding in uncertainty.

"You have been holed in your fortress long my friend. The Orbians are restless now that they know that their Princess is here. And we mustn't try those who offer a willing hand to us." Heine smiled, "Besides, I think she misses her brother. Don't you?"

…oOo…

A horn rang and in the distance they saw a banner flying proudly in the wind. It rolled in waves and at last unfurled to show Minerva's shield.

It appeared the snake has made its nest on the King's lawn.

Patrick Zala lingered as his army marched by him, lingered still until the last of them had passed, until what was left were the knights of his household.

"My Lord?" prompted the bravest one.

Lord Zala still remained unmoved and quiet as Gilbert Dullindal come to meet his company.

…oOo…

"Lady Clyne"

The weary woman turned her head up, silent tears ever streaking her cheeks. Her hair was dry and uncombed, her eyes deep in its sockets. Yet even in misery, she was still comely.

"Prince Kira is asking for an audience with you, my lady."

…oOo…

The ride was demanding and with over twenty thousand Northmen at their tail, it was slow.

Now, as the bridge joining the North to the rest of Plants appear, both sides of the road swarm with activity. People gather around, hollering words as they crane their chins, watching as the army pass. In awe as they gape at the standards of noble northern lords.

Some throw flowers at soldiers' feet, admiring the perfect placidity of them. All bow their heads as red knights canter by.

They wait and they wait, breath baited as Copernicus' banner come in sight at last. At its head was Zala's scion, an angel of death in his dark armor. His coat of arms waved in the breeze, a lion's head in whose great maw bound a flower.

And thought they: _Cagalli of Orb_.

…o…

"To be fair, I am quite flattered."

Hidden in plain sight where they were riding side by side, both Heine and Cagalli were in ordinary soldier's armor, _still_ discussing the nuances of being made into one's husband's icon.

Heine laughed with abandon. "Oh your Grace, you are a breath of fresh air!"

As their mirth lulled into an easy silence, Cagalli looks ahead and wondered if Athrun will ever think the same again.

…o…

How much he wanted to convey, to say, to make her understand.


End file.
